The Doctor's Game
by sinfuego
Summary: All is not as it should be. A man that should be alive is dead, a man that should be dead is alive, and two worlds that shouldn't meet are on a collision course set to destroy both. As cause and effect tangle into a ball of timey-wimey...stuff, can the Doctors unravel plots, timelines, and nemeses to reveal who is behind it all? And more importantly; can they stop them?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Reset

_He grunted as the pain slowly faded, but he knew this wasn't over. They had blindfolded him; he couldn't see anything. Cold water dripped from his face as he sat there, panting, glad that they had stopped._

_"Again" growled a voice._

_"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"_

It was another, ordinary day for John Watson. As usual, he forced himself to get up, get dressed, and make his breakfast. Eggs on toast. Yum.

He sat at his computer for a few hours, staring blankly at the screen. His psychiatrist had told him that writing everything that happened to him would help. Well, he'd done just that. _Woke up, made breakfast, ate. Wrote on blog._ He stared at his work with mock pride before sighing and closing his eyes.

After a while, his mind began to wander. Eyes still closed, he thought back on the war. He could sometimes still remember how it felt. The hot sun beating him down. The sound of his superiors shouting orders at him. The sense of danger around every corner.

The unbridled joy of something..._different _every day.

John sighed and opened his eyes. Nope. It wasn't working today. Maybe he'd go out for a walk.

John grimaced as he got up, hobbling across the floor with his walking-stick to get to the door. On the doormat lay more bills; he didn't bother with them. He knew there would be something there demanding he pay for some utility or other that had already been cut off.

John clumsily made his way down the stairs, gasping every time he almost lost his balance on his bad leg. _Damn this leg,_ he thought for the god-knows-how-many-th time that morning. He hobbled across the lobby of the building, out into the gloomy London morning.

It was a beautiful day. Just like the two before it. Unprecedented really; stable weather in London. Who knows, maybe it'd actually be warm this summer?

John found himself walking through the park. He tried to enjoy himself. It really was a great day. He could stop and smell the roses. His leg didn't hurt that bad today. Maybe he'd go to the cinema later.

John chuckled to himself. Who was he kidding? Today was going to be more of the same, grey days he had ever since he got back from the war.

"John?"

Yes. Ever since he got back. He never really thought of it that way befo-

"John Watson?"

Wait. That was his name. John turned to a portly man, wearing glasses, a cream-coloured overcoat and a horrendous orange-and-yellow tie.

"Stamford," said the man, smiling with recognition at John, "Mike Stamford, we were at BARTs together."

"Yes," said John, finally placing the man. It had been years since he'd last seen Mike. He fumbled with his walking stick as he moved to shake his hand.

"Ye-sorry, yes, Mike. Hello, Mike," _He's gained a few pounds ,_thought John.

"Yeah, I know," said Mike amicably, "I got fat."

"Oh," said John, slightly embarrassed at his thoughts. He looked away, not really wanting to talk with his old friend.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at!" said Mike, smiling, "What happened?"

John stared at Mike for a second, before swiftly replying:

"I got shot."

That seemed to puncture the mood a bit. Mike's face became slightly more "understanding," as John was now used to calling it.

"Listen, I'm on my break. Do you want to go get coffee or something? Catch up, y'know?" said Mike jovially, evidently trying to make up for his previous blunder.

John thought. He didn't really want to speak with his old friend. Then again, there wasn't really anything more he could do for the day. What could be the harm?

"Sure," said John, "Where to?"

_"Again"_

FLASH

John found himself walking through the park. He tried to enjoy himself. It really was a great day. He could stop and smell the roses. His leg didn't hurt that bad today. Maybe he'd go to the cinema later.

John chuckled to himself. Who was he kidding? Today was going to be more of the same, grey days he had ever since he got back from the war.

"John?"

Yes. Ever since he got back. He never really thought of it that way befo-

"John Watson?"

Wait. That was his name. John turned to a portly man, wearing glasses, a cream-coloured overcoat and a horrendous orange-and-yellow tie.

"Stamford," said the man, smiling with recognition at John, "Mike Stamford, we were at BARTs together."

"Yes," said John, finally placing the man. It had been years since he'd last seen Mike. He fumbled with his walking stick as he moved to shake his hand.

"Ye-sorry, yes, Mike. Hello, Mike," _He's gained a few pounds ,_thought John.

"Yeah, I know," said Mike amicably, "I got fat."

"Oh," said John, slightly embarrassed at his thoughts. He looked away, not really wanting to talk with his old friend.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at!" said Mike, smiling, "What happened?"

John stared at Mike for a second, before swiftly replying:

"I got shot."

That seemed to puncture the mood a bit. Mike's face became slightly more "understanding," as John was now used to calling it.

"Listen, I'm on my break. Do you want to go get coffee or something? Catch up, y'know?" said Mike jovially, evidently trying to make up for his previous blunder.

John thought. He didn't really want to speak with his old friend. Then again, there wasn't really anything more he could do for the day. What could be the harm?

"Sure," said John, "Where to?"

_"Again"_

FLASH

"Yeah, I know," said Mike amicably, "I got fat."

"Oh," said John, slightly embarrassed at his thoughts. He looked away, not really wanting to talk with his old friend.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at!" said Mike, smiling, "What happened?"

John stared at Mike for a second, before swiftly replying:

"I got shot."

That seemed to puncture the mood a bit. Mike's face became slightly more "understanding," as John was now used to calling it.

"Listen, I'm on my break. Do you want to go get coffee or something? Catch up, y'know?" said Mike jovially, evidently trying to make up for his previous blunder.

John thought. He didn't really want to speak with his old friend. Then again, there wasn't really anything more he could do for the day. What could be the harm?

"Sure," said John, "Where to?"

_"Again"_

FLASH

"I got shot."

That seemed to puncture the mood a bit. Mike's face became slightly more "understanding," as John was now used to calling it.

"Listen, I'm on my break. Do you want to go get coffee or something? Catch up, y'know?" said Mike jovially, evidently trying to make up for his previous blunder.

John thought. He didn't really want to speak with his old friend. Then again, there wasn't really anything more he could do for the day. What could be the harm?

"I'm sorry," said John, "I really..should be going..."

He started making his way along the path. Mike's face fell.

"Oh," he said, obviously disappointed, "Well, maybe next time."

"Yes, yes, definitely," said John, turning away, "Bye."

Something felt off. A blanket of uneasiness fell over John, making him stop. He turned to where Mike had been, but he had already left. Maybe if he ran...no. No, what was he thinking? He couldn't just go after Mike, not after blowing him off like that. Shaking his head, John turned away, off on his walk.

But his unease wouldn't go away.


	2. Chapter 2: Two Years Later

Chapter 2: Two Years Later

There was no point to anything. John felt empty. His days were the same thing, day in, day out. Nothing ever happened. Nothing ever changed.

Nowadays, John spent most of his time either going on walks, feeding the birds, or watching daytime telly. His face had morphed into a permanent mask of indifference, especially after that disastrous falling out with Harry. Now, he found that he had formed a special connection with the pigeons in the park. He had somehow memorised the lead cast for that new Les Mis film they were making, despite intending never to watch it. He could recite to anyone who asked the perambulatory habits of those that regularly walked through the park from 10am - 3pm on weekdays.

There was a time when John used to be bored. When he wished that something different would happen. Maybe he'd meet someone strange. Maybe he'd find a winning lottery ticket. Maybe he'd discover a lost city in the sewers of London, thriving on the discarded thoughts of those living above. It didn't really matter. _Anything_ was better than the boredom.

But then, as time went on and the world refused to change, John felt himself growing numb. There was nothing he could do anymore. Life went on, each day slowly trickling away. John couldn't even feel the breadcrumbs he was throwing lifelessly at the pigeons. He'd come to accept that maybe, his life had just run out of interesting things to offer.

"Hello there," said a man, sitting down next to John on the park bench. John grunted a reply, refusing to turn towards this man. He kept feeding the pigeons.

"I love pigeons," said the man, "Funny little creatures, pigeons. A little full of themselves, but funny nonetheless. Also, the word 'pigeons' has a nice, funny sound to it, don't you think?"

Was this man really talking about pigeons? John's furrowed his brow.

"Then again, I'd never actually want to be a pigeon. Too...habitual for me. Always coming back to the same place. Well...not that I don't. But I really would prefer a bit more freedom whilst travelling. Don't you agree?"

John grunted again. The man's voice was like a five-year-old's, full of curiosity and inquisitiveness. John turned slightly to look at the man. He was wearing black trousers with black, ankle-high boots. Travelling upwards, he was wearing a brown, tweed jacket. Probably the most striking thing about this man was his hair; which was...floppy. That was the word that came to John's mind.

The man had his arms rested against his knees, leaning forward. John couldn't see his face.

Then the man turned. John was surprised by what he saw.

The man looked like an overgrown child. His brow was large and hid chin slightly protruding from his face. His eyebrows were furrowed in a mixture of sadness and curiosity; his mouth slightly upturned at the ends in quiet amusement.

But what struck John the most, were his eyes. Those were deep eyes; haunted eyes. Eyes that had seen things ordinary men had never dreamed of. Eyes that spoke of terrible sorrow, as well as unbridled joy.

"I don't think we've properly met," said the man, holding out his hand.

"I'm John," said John, cautiously taking his hand, "John Watson"

Suddenly, the man pulled himself near John, kissed him on either cheek, stood up, and gave a little bow.

"Hello John, I'm the Doctor," he said, taking out a strange stick like device and waving it at John, "I was wondering, has anyone told you how absolutely ordinary you are?"

"I-I'm sorry?" said John, confused.

The device was glowing green at John's end, and seemed to be making a weird, bleeping noise. John tried to swat it away, but the man persisted.

"You're absolutely ordinary," repeated the man, "Nothing special about you."

"I...don't think anyone's felt the need," replied John cautiously, giving up on swatting the device away.

"And yet..." the man stopped waving the thing in his hand. He examined the glowy end, seemingly baffled and curious by what he was seeing.

"And yet...it all converges...on _you_..." the man turned around, seemingly lost in thought.

John couldn't help himself.

"I'm sorry, but, what exactly are you talking about?"

The man turned around again, this time coming right up close to John.

"You're ordinary," stated the man, "Normal life, went to Barts, then the Army, Afghanistan, yes? Served for a while, as a doctor of course, then were invalided and sent home. You've seen war, seen pain, experienced it, tasted it. Psychosomatic limp proves that, so why..." the man narrowed his eyes, "why are you so important?"

"Important? Me?" said John, pushing the man away and getting up. The man spoke at fifty miles an hour, almost like...wait what? Almost like who?

Ah, forget it.

"Why would I be important?" he said, walking away.

John heard the man gasp. He paused.

...

"What? What is it?" said John, turning around exasperated.

The man was staring at John with a mixture of horror and...excitement.

"Oh...Oh I see..." said the man, looking up and turning around, "Oh, that is just..._brilliant._"

"You know you're doing that aloud," said John, then frowned. He shook the feeling off.

The man turned sharply to John, grinning.

"Has anyone ever told you..." he said walking slowly up to John, until he was right in his face again, "That you have something on your back?"

John looked at the man. There had been times when people did at double take whenever John passed. Some people even remarked that they thought they'd seen something behind John when they first met. But what did that have to do with anything?

"Y-yes. How did you..." began John, then stopped. The man was making a face. A face that said, 'I know exactly what you're going to say, and I know exactly how to answer it.'

It was a disconcertingly familiar face.

"Who...who are you?" John asked.

"I told you," said the man, "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" asked John.

The man's face broke into a smile. A large smile that made his eyes light up and dance. A smile that for some reason, lit John's soul with the same joyful curiosity this man seemed to have.

"_Yes,_" said the man, "Absolutely."

He turned around and began walking. He stopped after a few feet, looking back at John.

"Well?" he shouted, "Aren't you coming?"

John hesitated. For some strange reason, he wanted to go with this man. He limped towards this "Doctor."

"Where...exactly...are we going?" said John as he reached the man.

"The past. The future," grinned the Doctor, "Possibly even the present. Everywhere and anywhere, to get to the bottom of this mystery."

"What mystery? You're not making sense."

"Oooohhhh no no no no no! You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about though, don't you?"

John paused. He knew..._something_ was off. Did this "Doctor" character feel the same way?

"I can help you, you know," said the Doctor, his smile now smaller, his eyes twinkling.

The Doctor offered his hand. John looked at it, then back up at the Doctor's smiling face. Somehow, he knew that if he took this Doctor's hand, he could find the answers. All the answers. Yet he hesitated. Because he also knew that there was something dark going on. And that it was quite possible that this darkness stemmed from the world of this "Doctor."

John took his hand. The Doctor gripped his hand firmly, and he smiled.

For the first time in a long while, the day felt a little brighter.


End file.
